blobbikins

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Unseen Hands by blobbikins, literature

Sprawl by blobbikins, literature

Literature

Sprawl

i think of many things when you say "sprawl" myself, sprawled on my bed all acute angles of knees and hips and elbows and shoulders— less of a sprawl than a ball, that is— but sometimes i'm sprawled, limbs straight out as i try to make myself vulnerable to the world and then curl back up again because i can't take it, can't take the risk of maybe the light falling from the ceiling onto me or something less tangible puncturing me; in any case i can't take it. why is it that everything takes one direction in my head and when i leap off the bed and start to crazy write with no capitals so it feels more like i'm writing from

Safe by blobbikins, literature

Literature

Safe

On Thursday, an early end to the workday and a dinner that's just out of their price range unfailingly follows a poor excuse for inexplicable credit card charges. An entire Sunday spent watching black and white movies only comes after an entire Saturday spent apart. A meticulously-picked-out bouquet delivered to Joel's desk before he even gets to work on Tuesday morning is a subtle yet blatant answer to the pillow-muffled question of eight hours previous: "Why were you out so late?" William's honesty gives away his deceit, and that is why Joel will eat his overpriced foie gras and snuggle with William on the couch as Cary Grant's light fl

us, by blobbikins, literature

Young by blobbikins, literature

Literature

Young

She is weary with fifteen years' worth of cares upon her shoulders, her back, her mind. The whole world's pain settles over her every time she closes her eyes or muffles her ears or has even one moment to herself in the 3 a.m. quiet of her room. Sometimes it takes the form of a lump in her throat so big she feels like she can't breathe, but still she refuses to let the pain come out of her eyes. So she washes it away with the burning pain of her parents' liquor cabinet down her throat and, more often than not, the burning pain of it coming back up again. She battles it away with fists to the walls a

a calling by blobbikins, literature

me at fourteen, fifteen by blobbikins, literature

Literature

me at fourteen, fifteen

me at fourteen, fifteen can't help but want to be seen in a new way. okay, so we have everyone saying, "are you really bi?" and there's the hair cropped short, and the alcohol to try, and as a last resort - let's feel like shit because you think that no-one's looking yet. so there's sad poetry and mad poetry, and night after night alone, because what else is there? who else is there? yeah, you have friends, but you're still clawing at empty air for somebody, anybody else to care. are you rolling your eyes yet? scrolling up behind your glasses to the last story you heard about the hard-knock life for a kid whose life re

It Is All Fine and Good by blobbikins, literature

Literature

It Is All Fine and Good

It is all fine and good to part the fog with one finger at a time while your other hand and your mouth are occupied with a saltfatladen snack, To let the sun shine down on those poor huddles of bones and sweatshirts so that they let out hoarse jubilations and praise you for the precise length of one tick of your weighty watch, To smile down benevolently and obliviously as they are scorched and their cries of glee turn to cries of pain, And they blame you once again. It is all fine and good.

Sluice by blobbikins, literature

Single-Legged Soldiers by blobbikins, literature

Literature

Single-Legged Soldiers

Grandma's knitting needle: clack, clack. Crossfade to the whirring machinations of the marching needle, Stepping in time with scurrying fingers. Minty tooth-decay-preventing chewing gum chatter and railings clanging against hangers drown out the cyclic stamp of these single-legged soldiers. Peeking through the hole left by a dropped stitch, The world is not as clear.

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us, by blobbikins, literature

Fray by blobbikins, literature

Literature

Fray

They were cast adrift - Nay, thrown overboard - Choking on blinding salt near-willingly as they gaped and tried to ask the question. They vomited, Flaming eyes and flaming throats giving way to more emetic. Their lungs were filling fast. They tried to reach to their waists, tried to grab at the ropes that used to tie them to their ship. They found fraying ends. A gargling salty foam spewed from the biggest one's mouth. He gasped: "What now? What now?" His arms pushed forcefully, Reflexively. The others were silent: Fire in the eyes and Water in the lungs cannot question. He grasped his frayed rope-end, Further fraying

Forgotten by blobbikins, literature

Literature

Forgotten

The need began its insidious seeping-in long ago: A many-tendriled attention-seeker, A haze adaze. The barest of sweat-sheens clothes you. Limply walk until your knees give way to the edges of barely-cool sheets that finally receive your collapse. Yet they cannot match your feverish clothing and are thrown and kicked in a sudden fit of energy. Minutes pass. Take up from behind you a pillow too heavy to be rested upon. Clutch it desperately as a knight might take his sword to the grave, Bolstering your breastbone. This feathery weapon-shield est un faux ami. Too heavy to be rested upon, Too heavy to rest upon, Too

Impediment by blobbikins, literature

Literature

Impediment

Everything is impeding her thinking. The claustrophobic odor of sterilizer inside her suit. The incessant hissing of the machinery that powers the equipment connected to him. Everything is impeding her. She can't touch him; she doesn't want to. Better for him to not feel her at all than to ever have to associate her with a rustling synthetic touch. He croaks something, then coughs out of shame and a dry throat. He reaches out his withered arm, his entire body shaking with the effort of bringing the feeding tube to his mouth. A slow stream of water relieves him.

Sharing by blobbikins, literature

Wet Balloons by blobbikins, literature

Choke and Suppress by blobbikins, literature

Literature

Choke and Suppress

So. I'll lay it down right here The way I lay myself down across cool floors, Cheek hot, mouth open, eyes wide; Gaping, Choking and suppressing something Before it chokes and suppresses me. I'll lay it down right here: They say I'm green (and not in the sense that I'm naïve). Shouldn't I be? I could choke and suppress you, Lay you down right here For having everything I want And nothing I don't. I could choke and suppress you, And you'd be green. (And not in the sense that you're naïve, but not the same way as me either). So.

no diving. by blobbikins, literature

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How She Discovered Wonder ... by AlecBell, literature

Literature

How She Discovered Wonder ...

For Natalie Dream–time words surfaced from the depths of her mind. She was attentive, allowing them to form clusters as they spiralled and turned, so it seemed to her, like exotic marine creatures. At first the shapes they formed were the colours of sound, bright staccato and purple-deep legato. No meanings attached to them as yet, their forms were amorphous, lacking in the sharp edge of articulation. Enigmatic complexes took shape, embodying experience that had never been within the reach of recall, complexes that formed crystals in her imagination. As the sonorities of silent speech overwhelmed her, she reached for her pen. The puz

Extemporising by AlecBell, literature

Deviation Spotlight

Forgotten by blobbikins, literature

Literature

Forgotten

blobbikins

About blobbikins

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Artist // Hobbyist // Varied

United States
Deviant for 17 years

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_{My ideas look a lot better in my head than in the real world, but I try.}

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blobbikins

Feb 24, 2013

Acoustics

0 min read

The way my room is configured means that when it's really windy and the window is open and I'm lying on my bed, it sounds like the wind is howling through my walls.

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blobbikins

May 6, 2012

Reflection

0 min read

Just went back through all of my journals from the past five years.  Boy, was I self-absorbed and vapid. Oh, and happy 2012, five months in.

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blobbikins

Dec 19, 2011

Growing Up

0 min read

I should've written journals more often in the run-up to college.  To address some stuff I wrote in the last journal: - That class with the invasions of Britain could have been great, and I still think the content would be amazing, but I heard the professor sucked, so too bad. - That class with the religion and food was not as great as I thought it was going to be and I really shouldn't have taken it and UGH. - College (apart from the classes I didn't really enjoy) is every bit as great as I thought it would be.  No, better.  No, better in some ways and worse in some ways and just different in a lot of other ways. Like I didn't expect to

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Profile Comments 346

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FallingAsleepTonight

May 2, 2012

Clicked on "random deviant" and it sent me to you!
I write non-melodramatic free verse poetry, something that (I hope) people can find enjoyable even if you aren't a lit fanatic (just in case you're interested)

blobbikins

May 2, 2012

We seem kind of similar, actually (in age and writing preferences though maybe not so much in style)! Thanks for stopping by—I hope you had time to check out some of my stuff too